Parasite Mind
by lalalei
Summary: Ryou Bakura wasn't the only one who suffered whenever the Spirit of the Ring took over. As bad as it is to be possessed against your will, not knowing what you'll find when you wake, it's just as bad to be forced to watch. Joey knows this from experience.


_(There is a parasite in your friend's mind, and you can do nothing about it.)_

Those were the thoughts Joey Wheeler lived with every day, whether he wanted to or not. He hated it—hated the helplessness, hated the watching, hated that no matter how hard they shouted Ryou wouldn't hear them—and on the occasions he _did_ , each time it grew harder and harder to even see a slight change in expression.

The parasite had referred to Ryou, their _friend_ , as a host. Never by a name, never by any term indicating warmth or familiarity. To him, Ryou Bakura was just a vessel—an object in which to place his mind. Never mind that he felt _destined_ to have the Ring and that was why he put it on in the first place; the boy was a complete nonentity to the malevolent being. Joey gritted his teeth as he thought about how the Spirit must see _others_ for him to consider Ryou a host. It would certainly make shunting his consciousness away easier, once you stopped thinking of him as a being to his own.

He knew a little of how it felt, for Ryou. He'd experienced it himself to some degree in Battle City. Marik's will overrode all else, and when he woke from the long, fitful dream he had been told that he'd almost killed his best friend. _Would_ have killed him, if it weren't for Serenity and Seto Kaiba. He hadn't slept at all that night, and for months after, he'd been troubled by it until Yugi reassured him that they were never really fighting at all. The wound still hurt, but by now any lingering guilt was self-inflicted.

Joey couldn't imagine what it was like having to live with that every day—the fear that you'd wake up one morning and all your friends would be dead, their blood still warm on your hands. That you'd invite someone over for a tabletop game, a bit of harmless fun, and by game's end there would be a cold body and a warm figurine on the floor. That merely by _existing_ in the same space you put your friends in immediate, mortal danger.

Joey didn't know how Ryou dealt with it all without going insane, but he did. And somehow the kid was still nice. Maybe a little _too_ into that weird occult stuff, but from what he knew of Ryou's past, he understood why.

And he remembered what he'd said when Ryou had come clean about the accident, about his mother. About Amane.

"We'll be there for you," Joey had told the boy. "If you're in trouble, or you need something, give us a holler, Ryou. No matter what, we will _always_ be there to help you when it counts."

The fact that he couldn't live up to that promise after all was like poison. Every time he heard that incessant, mocking laughter, the voice as cold and sharp as a knife of glass, Joey wanted to throttle the Spirit until he _made_ Ryou come back.

It hurt.

It hurt to know he wouldn't do anything.

Because he didn't want to hurt Ryou, right? That was what was staying his hands from wringing the Spirit's neck—it wasn't his body. Yeah, that was all.

 _(It's not all.)_

Okay, then, it wasn't his _fight_. Yeah, Joey was good at Duel Monsters, but there was no way he could hold off a Destiny Board/Dark Necrofear combo like Yugi could. Let Yugi beat him like he always did and things would go back to normal.

 _(Heh. Normal. He'd return. He always does. You know that.)_

Maybe if the Spirit was in a generous mood (a liar, thief, stealer of souls, _generous_?) he could bargain with him. 'Leave the poor kid alone and you can have me,' he'd say. Even if he had to live with that gnawing fear from now on, for the rest of his _life_ , Ryou wouldn't. It would be worth it, to give him that.

 _(Nothing is worth that. Not your life, not your friend's. Poor, sad Joseph Wheeler making excuses again.)_

Excuses? Excuses for _what_? He'd _tried_ to help him, hadn't he? Hadn't they all? And when they _had_ tried… when _he_ had tried…

* * *

" _Ryou," he'd yelled. "Are ya in there!? Say something!"_

 _His response had been long, echoing laughter._

* * *

 _He'd slammed the Spirit against the wall, catching him off-guard. "I'm only gonna say this once," he breathed into his face—Ryou's face, he reminded himself. "Give him back."_

 _A crooked smile. "Foolish boy. There's nothing to give."_

* * *

 _That was it, Joey thought. No human could treat another's life so callously, threatening to throw Ryou away just to win a match. "I've had ENOUGH of you and your sick games! You want a body that badly, take mine!"_

 _The parasite shrugged. "Marik's already claimed you, brat. **This** vessel is **mine**."_

* * *

It hurt to know he _couldn't_ do anything.

He had never hated _anyone_ as much as the Spirit of the Ring. He had never hated _anything_ as much as this situation—the taunts and sneers, the paranoia, the never knowing _when_ it would happen, only that it _would_.

His frustration was poison, his anger ice, his hatred visceral as the tearing of flesh. The sheer _unfairness_ of it all threatened to burn him alive.

And Joey realized, with horror, that maybe Ryou wasn't the _only_ host the parasite had infested.


End file.
